I Will Repay Baroness Orczy (philippa perry book .txt) 📖

But can you do it to Marie Antoinette? She’d rebuke you publicly, and betray herself and you in a flash, sooner than submit to a loss of dignity.”

“But would you leave her to her fate?”

“Ah! there’s the trouble, friend. Do you think you need appeal to the sense of chivalry of my league? We are still twenty strong, and heart and soul in sympathy with your mad schemes. The poor, poor Queen! But you are bound to fail, and then who will help you all, if we too are put out of the way?”

“We should succeed if you helped us. At one time you used proudly to say: ‘The League of The Scarlet Pimpernel has never failed.’ ”

“Because it attempted nothing which it could not accomplish. But, la! since you put me on my mettle⁠—Demm it all! I’ll have to think about it!”

And he laughed that funny, somewhat inane laugh of his, which had deceived the clever men of two countries as to his real personality.

Déroulède went up to the heavy oak desk which occupied a conspicuous place in the centre of one of the walls. He unlocked it and drew forth a bundle of papers.

“Will you look through these?” he asked, handing them to Sir Percy Blakeney.

“What are they?”

“Different schemes I have drawn up, in case my original plan should not succeed.”

“Burn them, my friend,” said Blakeney laconically. “Have you not yet learned the lesson of never putting your hand to paper?”

“I can’t burn these. You see, I shall not be able to have long conversations with Marie Antoinette. I must give her my suggestions in writing, that she may study them and not fail me, through lack of knowledge of her part.”

“Better that than papers in these times, my friend: these papers, if found, would send you, untried, to the guillotine.”

“I am careful, and, at present, quite beyond suspicion. Moreover, among the papers is a complete collection of passports, suitable for any character the Queen and her attendant may be forced to assume. It has taken me some months to collect them, so as not to arouse suspicion; I gradually got them together, on one pretence or another: now I am ready for any eventuality⁠—”

He suddenly paused. A look in his friend’s face had given him a swift warning.

He turned, and there in the doorway, holding back the heavy portière, stood Juliette, graceful, smiling, a little pale, this no doubt owing to the flickering light of the unsnuffed candles.

So young and girlish did she look in her soft, white muslin frock that at sight of her the tension in Déroulède’s face seemed to relax. Instinctively he had thrown the papers back into the desk, but his look had softened, from the fire of obstinate energy to that of inexpressible tenderness.

Blakeney was quietly watching the young girl as she stood in the doorway, a little bashful and undecided.

“Madame Déroulède sent me,” she said hesitatingly, “she says the hour is getting late and she is very anxious. M. Déroulède, would you come and reassure her?”

“In a moment, mademoiselle,” he replied lightly, “my friend and I have just finished our talk. May I have the honour to present him?⁠—Sir Percy Blakeney, a traveller from England. Blakeney, this is Mademoiselle Juliette de Marny, my mother’s guest.”

VII A Warning

Sir Percy bowed very low, with all the graceful flourish and elaborate gesture the eccentric customs of the time demanded.

He had not said a word, since the first exclamation of warning, with which he had drawn his friend’s attention to the young girl in the doorway.

Noiselessly, as she had come, Juliette glided out of the room again, leaving behind her an atmosphere of wild flowers, of the bouquet she had gathered, then scattered in the woods.

There was silence in the room for awhile. Déroulède was locking up his desk and slipping the keys into his pocket.

“Shall we join my mother for a moment, Blakeney?” he said, moving towards the door.

“I shall be proud to pay my respects,” replied Sir Percy; “but before we close the subject, I think I’ll change my mind about those papers. If I am to be of service to you I think I had best look through them, and give you my opinion of your schemes.”

Déroulède looked at him keenly for a moment.

“Certainly,” he said at last, going up to his desk. “I’ll stay with you whilst you read them through.”

“La! not tonight, my friend,” said Sir Percy lightly; “the hour is late, and madame is waiting for us. They’ll be quite safe with me, and you’ll entrust them to my care.”

Déroulède seemed to hesitate. Blakeney had spoken in his usual airy manner, and was even now busy readjusting the set of his perfectly-tailored coat.

“Perhaps you cannot quite trust me?” laughed Sir Percy gaily. “I seemed too lukewarm just now.”

“No; it’s not that, Blakeney!” said Déroulède quietly at last. “There is no mistrust in me, all the mistrust is on your side.”

“Faith!⁠—” began Sir Percy.

“Nay! do not explain. I understand and appreciate your friendship, but I should like to convince you how unjust is your mistrust of one of God’s purest angels, that ever walked the earth.”

“Oho! that’s it, is it, friend Déroulède? Methought you had foresworn the sex altogether, and now you are in love.”

“Madly, blindly, stupidly in love, my friend,” said Déroulède with a sigh. “Hopelessly, I fear me!”

“Why hopelessly?”

“She is the daughter of the late Duc de Marny, one of the oldest names in France; a Royalist to the backbone⁠—”

“Hence your overwhelming sympathy for the Queen!”

“Nay! you wrong me there, friend. I’d have tried to save the Queen, even if I had never learned to love Juliette. But you see now how unjust were your suspicions.”

“Had I any?”

“Don’t deny it. You were loud in urging me to burn those papers a moment ago. You called them useless and dangerous and now⁠—”

“I still think them useless and dangerous, and by reading them would wish to confirm my opinion and give weight to my arguments.”

“If